


orange blossoms

by elegantidler



Series: orange blossoms [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Fluff, Historical, M/M, One Shot, Persia, Trans Character, Trans Erik, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantidler/pseuds/elegantidler
Summary: Short, sweet, first kisses in Mazandaran
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/The Persian
Series: orange blossoms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802401
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	orange blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this was originally concieved as a scene in a much longer Persia-era fic I'm working on and while part of it will likely show up in that as well, I wanted to take the scene to a different conclusion than is planned for the other version.  
> So, kill your darlings and resurrect them as soft one shots apparently. 
> 
> It's not really relevant here but in the original setting, it's 1854, Erik and The Persian (Raheem) are in Barforush, Mazandaran doing some shifty stuff for the shah.

It is late in the evening, the sun has long since set, the town is quiet.

A warm breeze is rustling through the trees, carrying the sweet, citrus scent of the orange blossoms with it.

It had taken all of Raheem’s negotiating skills and the entirety of their evening meal to convince Erik to join him in the garden in the evening and to not run immediately to his rooms after eating like he has done on most evenings since they arrived in Barforush.

Erik has finally, reluctantly, agreed and they are now sitting in the secluded back garden of their apartments and smoking.

Well, Raheem is smoking. Erik had only taken one hesitant drag on the qalyan before handing it back and is now gazing off into the distance apparently deep in thought.

Still, even his silent company is pleasant. Raheem is so very tired of being lonely.

He leans back against the cushions propped up behind him and closes his eyes. He sighs heavily, trying to let the horrors of the day wash off of him.

For the hundredth time he tells himself that they are doing their duty here, following orders, and for the hundredth time he can’t quite convince himself that’s true. The whole thing makes him uncomfortable and it has been making him uncomfortable since Tabarsi. But still he doesn’t do anything to stop it.

And despite the peaceful night, despite the warm sweet breeze, he frowns deeply, and rubs his hands roughly over his face. 

Through his frustration he hears Erik’s voice, not speaking, but singing something very beautiful and soft.

And he can’t help but smile. He hasn’t heard Erik sing in a long time, not since before they arrived at Barforush, and he has missed it greatly.

He shifts and opens his eyes to see Erik. He is sitting with his knees drawn up, almost touching his chin, arms wrapped around his ankles, still gazing into the night, seemingly unaware of Raheem’s inner turmoil.

Without thinking, Raheem reaches out, stopping himself only a hair away from touching Erik’s arm.

 _Idiot,_ he thinks to himself, _what are you doing?_

 _Well why not,_ another part of him answers, _it’s not like you haven’t thought about it before, and it’s not like he’s pursued anyone to the contrary._

This is true. Ever since Erik had arrived in Tehran almost two years ago he has stubbornly maintained his distance from everyone around him.

Everyone except Raheem.

_So what are you going to do? Just sit here with your hand hovering in front of you forever?_

No. He might be too cowardly to stop that shah’s plans, too cowardly to stop what happened at Tabarsi, but he isn’t going to be too cowardly for this. So instead Raheem reaches out just a little bit farther and takes Erik’s hand in his.

Erik stops singing very suddenly, his head whipping around, golden eyes wide, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. And Raheem slowly raises Erik's hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. And still Erik doesn’t pull away, and he doesn’t run. Instead he unfolds himself and turns to face Raheem fully.

Slowly, very slowly, Raheem leans forward, and Erik only has enough time to faintly register his relief that he is wearing a mask that only covers the upper part of his face tonight before Raheem is kissing him.

_He is being kissed. Him! Someone is kissing him! Raheem has kissed his dead hands and is kissing horrible face! Raheem has seen what this monster is capable of and still he is kissing him!_

And clumsy and awkward and eager, Erik kisses him back.

Emboldened, Raheem deepens the kiss, his hands dropping Erik’s to instead cover the rest of him with his touch. He traces up his thin arms, coming to rest momentarily on his face before moving down his chest, softer than he expected for how thin he is. 

He feels Erik stiffen as his hands skim along the bottom hem of his shirt and he slows.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

Erik catches one of his wrists before he can start moving again.

“Don’t.”

Raheem hears the note of cold warning in his voice, hears the fear underneath it. But Erik had kissed him back. Deeply.

Erik, who could leave Russia without saying goodbye to anyone. Erik, who builds walls to keep people at a distance. Erik, who can never be persuaded to accompany Raheem to the bathhouse. Erik, who wears a mask.

 _This isn’t about you,_ Raheem thinks.

“Erik, really, it’s okay. I don’t care what you look like. I’m not going anywhere.”

Erik doesn't respond and instead turns his face quickly away. 

As gently as he can Raheem places his fingers under Erik's chin and turns him back. His eyes are still downcast and Raheem can see tears in their corners. 

Instead of words he reaches out and gently takes Erik's face in both his hands, rubbing his thumbs across his thin, boney cheeks, willing Erik to believe him.

Erik shivers.

“I…believe you. But please don’t,” he whispers, eyes closing.

He is ready for Raheem to leave. Ready for him to storm off, for him to be angry at Erik for leading him on and denying him the pleasure he sought.

But he doesn’t. His hands are still on his horrible face, soft and gentle.

And then very suddenly, he is being kissed again.

His eyes flutter open in surprise and Raheem smiles against his mouth.

“I’m still not going anywhere.”

He leans back again, pulling Erik down with him.

Erik huffs, slightly indignant at being pulled, but then he reaches out, still hesitant, and takes Raheem’s hand.

“You will regret being stuck with me, I think,” he says, staring at their intertwined fingers in awe and sadness.

Raheem squeezes Erik’s hand in return.

“Impossible.”

And he says it with such conviction that here, with the warm breeze, and the scent of orange blossoms, Erik almost believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> As this was more just focused on them, it's not as historically focused as I would usually do.
> 
> Barforush is modern day Babol in Mazandaran province, famous for orange trees.  
> The Tabarsi incident that's haunting Raheem was a Babi resistance south of Barforush  
> A qalyan is a Persian hookah, and in 1854 it's more likely that they're smoking tobacco, not opium.  
> But I don't know if Qajar era houses in Mazandaran had back gardens or what kind of clothing Erik is wearing that puts the edge at his waist.  
> So the historical accuracy is so-so


End file.
